Not Quite a Beauty, Very Much a Beast
by danger.angel
Summary: In which Marcus is a monster and Katie refuses to be a victim.


**Title: Not Quite a Beauty, Very Much a Beast**

**1.**  
Seven years after the victory of our Lord Voldemort over the Boy Without a Name and the old Ministry, the elite of Wizarding Britain met at Tulloch Estate to celebrate the twenty-eight birthday of Marcus Flint, recipient of an Order of the Serpent, first class. During the spring months, the ball had been the most discussed topic in the salons and studies of the upper-class. Balls were few and far between. Finally there was something to be excited about.

When the ball was announced, Madam Malkin suddenly found herself ordering large quantities of the finest silks, gold and silver thread, and various dyes. For two months she wasn't able to leave her the store until well after midnight, even on days when the store was officially closed. On days when the store was open she had to contend with feuding patrons, who were concerned there wouldn't be enough fabric or thread left in order to make them something spectacular, something that would even catch the eye of the little blind man who attended every ball. When the night of the event arrived, Madam Malkin packed her bags and set off for a long and well-deserved vacation.

The announcement of the ball made it a time of the young. The victory of our Lord had brought back the old ways: courting, dowries and the like. The ball would give the families in attendance the chance to make connections and put their sons and daughters on display.

The flurry of excitement caused by his birthday celebration was not lost on Marcus. He was annoyed by it more than anything. He'd imagined a quiet evening at home, possibly a small dinner with a few close friends. The ball had been the idea of his cousin's wife. According to Daphne Montague, née Greengrass, over the years all the members of the Order of the Serpent had given balls, all except Marcus. It was high time he showed some regard to his rank and do his duty. His birthday was the perfect opportunity. Marcus had disagreed. Before he could make it clear to Daphne that he had no plans of throwing a ball, Daphne had already discussed the matter with twenty-five of her closest friends. It was easier to have the ball than convince everyone it was not going to happen. Marcus left everything in Daphne's hands.

Her husband had been a complete failure in securing an Order of the Serpent and thus had failed to guarantee prime attendance at any ball they might've held. Daphne was delighted had the chance to mastermind such a large and important event. This was what she thought she'd be doing on a regular basis when she'd married Montague. At times she wondered if she'd married below her station. If she'd been a little bit more mercenary and not so concerned about appearance she would've chosen Marcus over Montague.

Marcus was still unattractive. However, Daphne had to admit he had come a long way since their time at school. He'd come out of that awkward stage where he'd looked the very image of a troll with a matt of dark hair. Marcus had settled into himself. He would make someone a fine husband if they could deal with his moods and irritability. Daphne knew just who that _someone_ was.

-&-

The music irritated Marcus' sensitive ears. He could hear every out of pitch note and every screech coming from the full orchestra. At the moment they were playing an upbeat tune that required a long solo from the violins. Marcus felt as if his head was ready to collapse in on itself. He kept his face neutral, scanning the ballroom. Daphne had disappeared a few minutes earlier. Marcus worried when she was far from his sight. Daphne was consistently unpredictable. Marcus liked to be ready for whatever ridiculous thing she would want to do next. He had been less than pleased when she'd made him dance with her hundred year old grandmother.

"Looking for my wife?"

Marcus glanced up at his cousin with a smirk. "Who else? Are you enjoying yourself?"

Montague took a large gulp of his firewhiskey. "Of course not. I'd rather be anywhere than here."

"Not somewhere in particular?"

Whenever the tips of Montague's ears turned red it was a sign that he was embarrassed or nervous. Right now they were the same shade as his wife's lipstick.

"Marcus, you know it's not becoming to speak of one's mistress in polite society," Montague replied, straining to keep a neutral expression.

"When have I ever cared about polite society? Polite society could go fuck itself for all I care." Marcus grabbed a glass of firewhiskey from a passing tray, downed it in a single gulp and gave the empty glass to his cousin. " I'm going to sit in my study until it's time for me to tell everyone to get out. Join me?"

"You can't leave just yet." Montague smiled. "Not until Daphne introduces you to your future wife."

Watching Daphne twine her arm around Marion Bletchley's, pulling her towards him, Marcus wished he'd kept her on some sort of leash. He wished Montague had enough life in him when it came to his marriage to be able to restrain her.

Marion Bletchley was the proper sort of girl. Beautiful, wealthy, intelligent. She came from a long line of pureblood supporters. The Bletchleys were fanatical in their devotion to the Dark Lord. It would have been unnatural if Marion hadn't favoured Marcus as much as she did. He was unattractive but what was that compared to the fact that he'd made a name for himself as the Dark Lord's chief enforcer. While the other Death Eaters like Bellatrix Lestrange were busy torturing Muggles and half-bloods, revelling in their Azkaban-induced insanity, Marcus had been the one to consistently deliver information, lead raids, and carry out the necessary murders. He'd never once complained or questioned the Dark Lord. What Marcus knew was indifference most people took as obedience.

Marcus had been so good at what he did that he was allowed to distinguish himself from the other Death Eaters. He wore the same mask and robe but was allowed to wear a pair of iron gauntlets. They were designed to fit and feel like gloves while retaining their strength. There were 206 bones in the human body. Marcus had broken and crushed every one of them as a Death Eater. In his head, the sounds collided to create a concerto that was more beautiful than anything an orchestra could produce.

Of course Marion knew that. She knew what a beast he could be. She'd heard the stories and had personally seen the evidence of his work. During the war, she and a few other devotees of the Dark Lord liked to visit the sites of Death Eater attacks. It gave them a thrill to see the work of their Lord and his followers.

He was stupid not to be at least infatuated with her. She accepted him for who and what he was, which was more than he'd ever receive from any other woman.

"It is so very hard to find good help these days," Marion was saying as the two women came closer. "I do wish the house elf numbers weren't so low. It's so dreadful that we have to get by with these servants." Marion eyed a passing servant with such disdain that the man nearly dropped the tray of champagne.

When the dust had settled after the end of the war, the house elf population had considerably diminished. Some elves had died protecting their masters and mistresses while others had died not too long after their families had. There was a rumour that some house elves had left the Wizarding world, uneasy about living under the Dark Lord's rule. If it was true then Marcus couldn't blame them. House elves were now treated worse than they'd ever been previously. The last time he'd been in Diagon Alley he'd seen a shrivelled old thing with twigs for limbs, carrying multiple bags and boxes for a well-dressed, perfumed and coiffed woman. Not many things angered Marcus, but that scene had nearly done him in. He'd politely offered to buy the elf. When the woman refused, he'd let her know just who she was dealing with. She'd relented and the elf, Tizzy, was still recuperating with the few other elves he'd managed to acquire.

With most of the house elves gone, most people had turned to Muggleborns and the defenders of the old Ministry. Like birds, their wings were clipped, most of their magic drained away in some process that was causing a stir among the Dark Lord's scientists. With what equated to a child's toy wand, they could only do the simplest of magic. They were the perfect candidates to fill the gap left by the missing house elves.

They lived a sorry existence. They trailed behind their masters and mistresses, dirty, emaciated and aged beyond their years. The advantage of life as a house elf was that no one, except that one man Marcus had heard about, was attracted to house elves. The number of bastard children was staggering. The Ministry had no idea how to classify them. Their bad blood could not be ignored, but neither could their exemplary roots. It was left up to the families to decide. A bastard child, if pretty enough or deemed to hold a lot of potential, could be given a publicly recognized name. Otherwise, they were either killed or were classified as belonging to the servant class.

Marcus knew that Miles, Marion's brother, had at least one bastard. A little girl he'd let the mother keep. If Marcus had been that woman he would have drowned the thing or suffocated it in its sleep. There was always a high price to be paid for Miles' supposed kindness.

Marion and Daphne carried on their conversation for a minute or so before turning their attention to Montague and Marcus. It was the tactic Marcus referred to as the "Not Too Eager" Feint. Marion didn't want to seem too excited to see Marcus so she played at ignoring him for a short time. Enough time for him to admire her bare shoulders and cleavage up-close and to be affected by them.

"Marcus, this is a lovely ball. I want to thank you personally for inviting my family," Marion said at the expected time. "My mother is having a wonderful time. She swears this is one of the best balls she's been to in all her life."

"You can thank Daphne. The last thing I wanted was to have people trouncing around my house and drinking the liquor I tell people I'm saving for the children I'll never have."

Immediately, Daphne shot him an irritated look. Marcus countered with a hard stare that made her cower. Montague sighed and finished his firewhiskey.

"Well, even if you didn't want this to happen it's still beautiful," Marion said, smiling. She slipped her arm around Marcus'. "I've never had the pleasure of dancing with you. I remember I asked you at the Victory Ball but you didn't want to."

"You were fourteen. I didn't want to add pedophile to long list of names I've been called."

"I'm not fourteen now."

Her demure expression had no effect on Marcus but he consented to a dance. It was a slow one. Marion made sure there was little space between them. She was disappointed when she failed to elicit the appropriate response.

Miles, Marion's brother, joined Montague and Daphne when the song was coming to an end. They stood on either side of him, uncaring about the other. Miles looked none too pleased to be among them and he looked even less pleased as he watched Marcus and Marion coming over. Marion's arm was still entwined with Marcus'.

"Flint," Miles greeted with a nod. "Nice event. Mum's having a wonderful time."

"So I've heard." Marcus eyed Miles' glass of hundred year old wine. "Enjoying that?"

"Very much," he replied, finishing it. "Where did you get it? I can't imagine your family believing it was worth something to hold on to fine wine much less keep a cellar."

Miles knew as much about Marcus as Marion did. However, he chose to interpret the information differently. Marcus knew what Miles thought of him. With all that supposedly pure blood of his, Miles looked down on him. He also feared and admired Marcus, but his prejudice was deeply ingrained and he couldn't help the slight cringes whenever Marcus was near.

"Actually, my mother spent a lot her free time travelling to France and Italy collecting wine. She had her own vineyard outside Venice," Marcus replied.

"Your mother." Miles was surprised. "You don't talk much about her."

"Not to you, at least."

Daphne was getting annoyed again. Marcus ignored her.

"There aren't any portraits of her," Marion said, curious. "I saw your father's portrait in the front hall. Did you put her portrait somewhere else?"

"There are no portraits of her. My mother didn't believe in stupid things like that."

"Having your portrait done is a time honoured tradition. I would hardly call it stupid," Miles said with a haughty air.

"Think whatever you like. I'm only telling you what my mother thought."

"What happened to her?" Miles asked, ten thousand gruesome scenarios coming to his mind.

He had no right to ask. Miles was candid about his impropriety, smirking at Marcus underneath his façade of empathetic curiosity.

Marcus became still, staring directly at him. His anger was like a thin coil curling around his belly. He could feel it, but refused to let it get a stranglehold on him. Everything was about control. Marcus had played Quidditch with Miles for years. In his fourth year, Miles had taken a bludger to the knee. Despite Madam Pomfrey's treatment, the joint still ached and caused Miles some discomfort. A swift and well-placed hit and Marcus could snap the joint again. Miles would be lucky if he could walk without a cane. That would've upset Daphne considerably. Marcus smirked and Miles shuddered.

"She died of Fabian's Disease," Montague volunteered when Marcus didn't speak.

"Oh, how terrible," Marion said. "It must have been hard, watching the disease take over."

Hard wasn't an adequate word to describe what Marcus had gone through. His mother had been plain to everyone else, but to him she was beautiful. Her beauty, speech, mobility and intelligence had been stripped away until she was left paralyzed, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

"Yes, it was very hard," Marcus replied blandly.

He watched Miles closely. He didn't believe any of it, that Marcus' mother had died of a degenerative disease or that Marcus was human enough to care. Forget shattering his knee. Marcus wanted Miles' head mounted above his desk in his study.

"Excuse me. I have something to attend to at the moment." Before anyone could respond, Marcus was already leaving the ballroom.

There were guests in the halls. They smiled and nodded at him, but none stopped him to start a conversation. They all knew better than that. At the end of the hall was the large front vestibule. There was no one there. Marcus wasn't surprised. None of his guests liked to stay in the vestibule long because of the large portrait of his father, Malcolm. As soon as anyone entered the house, they were faced with Malcolm's grim mouth, sunken eyes, and large uneven teeth.

His father was ugly, uglier than Marcus had ever been. Marcus hadn't known it until he was four and his mother's sister had looked at him, shook her head, and said it was a shame that he'd taken after his father. She'd gone on to say that it was too bad her family was poor and her sister so unattractive. She wouldn't have been married off to the first man who showed an interest in her. The fact that the Flints were wealthy couldn't make up for the injustice of being ugly.

But his mother had loved his father. In the beginning, she'd been honest about the disgust she felt every time she saw him. They didn't consummate the marriage until a year after the wedding. Malcolm had won her over like he did everyone else who cared to know him. He was a good man. His humour had kept him from despairing and giving up where others would have. He was also honest. Malcolm was proud to say that he never had to lie about anything. Most people, he said, told themselves lies and others were too afraid to ask for the truth. The people who were enamoured with the truth were best dealt with straightforwardly and without fear.

It was high time Marcus figured out how to deal with Miles. With Marion looking to make him her husband he had to formulate some plan of action.

"Marcus, are you alright?" Montague asked, coming into the vestibule.

"You know I'm fine. It would take more than Bletchley to make me cower in a corner. You do remember how many people I've killed, don't you?"

Montague grimaced. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

Marcus snorted. "And I wish you'd stop complaining."

He gave a final glance at his father's portrait and started for his study. He knew Montague would follow, glad to be away from his wife for the rest of the night.

At three in the morning, Daphne came into the study to announce that it was time for Marcus to close the ball. Reluctantly, he went back to the ballroom to say a few words and made a quick exit before Marion could corner him, as she had at the last function they'd attended. Daphne had been indignant when he'd refused to see the guests off, but also pleased that she alone would have the honour. Marcus and Montague retired back to the study to drink a few rounds of Russian vodka.

The house was quiet when someone knocked at the door of the study. It couldn't have been Daphne. She preferred to barge in like she owned the estate and the house elves would have Apparated in. Marcus and Montague glanced at each but neither made a move to open the door. Their drinking had made them lethargic.

There was another knock, this time forceful and even a little angry.

"Just come in," Marcus snarled, filling his glass.

Miles forced the heavy door open and took only one step into the dark room. The only source of light was the fireplace. Even though Miles' face was hidden in the dark, Marcus could see that he held his head high, his nose upturned.

"I didn't get to wish you a happy birthday," he said. "I wanted to give you your gift earlier, but it wouldn't have been proper."

"You got me a gift? Why?"

"It is your birthday," Miles responded, exasperated.

Sipping at his vodka, Marcus gave Miles an appraising look. "Alright, let's see this gift of yours."

A sly smile and Miles disappeared into the hall. He returned with someone, a woman, in a long dark skirt and matching jacket. The firelight caught a wisp of her hair. Blonde, but darkened by dirt and grease. Marcus didn't like the way she carried herself. She wasn't tall, but she made herself shorter by slouching and bending forward slightly.

"Is this what they're calling gifts these days," Marcus scoffed. "There isn't even a bow."

Miles laughed. "I'm sure you'll enjoy her all the same."

Marcus' expression darkened. "I'm sure you meant well, but I'm afraid I can't accept."

"Why not? You don't believe in keeping servants?"

"I don't believe in much of anything. I still can't accept, though."

"I can't take her home. Mum's already signed her over to you. She filed with the Ministry yesterday. If you don't take her I'll have to take her to be put down."

"Try a different tactic, Miles. I haven't had that much to drink to feel very sentimental."

"You never liked playing the hero," Miles said.

"Always the villain." Marcus smirked. He was about to refuse when he felt Montague's eyes on him. He was giving Marcus that all too familiar look. Marcus swore under his breath. "Could you wait in the hall, Miles? My cousin is about to try and convince me to do something stupid."

When the door was shut securely, Marcus glared at Montague. "I won't do it."

"Do you know who that is?"

"I couldn't care less."

"Bell." Marcus responded with a blank look. "Katie Bell, from Hogwarts. She was a chaser for Gryffindor. You'd think you'd remember after all the broken bones you gave her."

Hogwarts was a long time ago. Marcus didn't think of those five years unless it was necessary. He remembered Bell. She was fragile-looking one out of the three girls on the team. He was never as rough with her as he was with the others. The first time he'd made her scream and saw her falling to the ground he'd been horror-stricken. She'd ended up with a broken arm, easily repaired. He'd been more than careful with her. He'd known that if he hadn't been he might've killed her. But he hadn't and he owed her nothing.

"She was best mates with—"

"Oh fuck! Not that," Marcus yelled. He slammed his glass down on the small table beside him and rose. "Three years ago you asked me to do something stupid and I did it for you. You said you'd never ask me for anything again and here we are."

"This isn't the same thing, Marcus. It's not like there are going to be any huge consequences if you do this one thing."

"You don't know that. Miles is fucking with me and he knows that I know that and that makes him dangerous to me. I don't want to have anything to do with whatever he's planning."

"Marcus," Montague began, his voice heavy.

"Fuck you."

He'd known he'd put himself at a disadvantage when he'd agreed to help Montague three years earlier, but he'd gone ahead and done it. Montague had been in a dark place then. After a year of marriage to Daphne, he was jaded and melancholy. Montague neither had the stomach or the disposition to be a Death Eater, but his family had forced him to take the Mark. He was barely competent as a Death Eater and Marcus had to shelter him in order to guarantee he made it through the war. On the edge of insanity, Montague had asked Marcus to disobey the Dark Lord's orders and spare Angelina Johnson's life. He'd loved her as a boy and claimed he'd never stopped. Marcus had given in. He'd done the right thing. Montague was happier and had taken three steps back from the edge. With their blood, that was as good as it could get.

Marcus looked over at his cousin, fist clenched. "Fuck you," he repeated.

Montague smiled.

* * *

**2.**  
Now more than ever, Katie was aware of how dirty she was. It had been a long time since she'd been inside a proper house, especially one with such beauty and elegance as this one. She'd been inside the Bletchley's house only once during her four years of service. An owl had been injured on the way to the house. Unable to fly any further it had landed near the servant's quarters. Thinking it was the right thing to do, Katie had taken the bird to the owlery and decided to personally deliver the letter. Madame Bletchley had been less than pleased seeing Katie in her sitting room, among her fine China and expensive furniture. The way she'd carried on one would've thought Katie had spat in her face. Miles had taken it upon himself to punish her. Ten minutes of _Cruciatus_ and a promise he'd be back later on to "check on her".

Katie distinctly remembered every encounter with Miles. His hands were always cold at first. They warmed as he held her, gripping her arms and legs. Once, his hands had grown hot as his fingers closed around her neck. She'd been angry that he hadn't killed her and even more angry that she'd wanted to die.

The moment Katie had become the Bletchleys' property, Miles had taken a liking to her. Back then she'd been pretty and still had some life to her. She'd still had hope that one day she would wake up and everything would be different. The Dark Lord's empire was not recognized by any other Wizarding government and there was talk of other countries making an attempt to restore the old Ministry. That had never happened and slowly the Dark Lord received the recognition he wanted. There was no turning back and hope fell by the wayside. Complete submission was the only way for Katie to survive. She stopped fighting Miles in the little ways that annoyed and aroused him. She did her work from dusk till dawn without thought and dropped into a deep and untroubled sleep when it was time.

Miles lost interest in her as she knew he would. A young pretty servant took her place. Unlike Katie, she responded to small gifts and tokens and believed Miles was in love with her. She was a pureblood and believed she'd become a servant by some mistake. She kept aloof from the other servants and turned up her nose at them. A nice laugh would be had by all when she was confronted with reality.

It was too bad Katie was going to miss it. She'd never considered the servants' quarters home but she was sad to be leaving it. She had friends there. She would miss Carl and his nervous ticks. Maria, who although was in her late eighties, still had a full head of glossy black hair. There would be no one to talk to. Marcus Flint was the subject of many of the Bletchleys' conversations. Katie had learned that he kept no servants and spent most of his time with his cousin on his estate doing Merlin knew what when he wasn't at the Ministry. The Bletchleys were fanatical when it came to the Dark Lord and it showed in the way they treated their servants. However, from what she'd heard, Marcus was a Believer. She had to confront the notion that she could be dead very soon.

She was scared, but Katie didn't show it. She stood in the hall with Miles, careful not to touch the walls or move too much. Her boots were dirty and there were clumps of dirt to mark where she'd taken a step. When she'd woken up this morning Katie had had no idea of the change in her situation. She'd gone about her day as she usually did, gardening and feeding the horses and thestrals. The Bletchleys had gotten the day's work out of her before she'd been ordered to pack her things. Miles had Apparated home in the middle of the ball to take her to Tulloch. She hadn't asked any questions because she didn't want to know the answers.

Behind the heavy door of Marcus' study, Katie could hear Marcus' muffled shout. Miles snickered.

The door swung open minutes later. Marcus' face was disfigured by an expression of contempt. "I've decided to accept your gift against my better judgement," he said.

"Against your better judgement?" Miles tried to put on an innocent face.

Montague sneered. "Don't be prat, Miles. I've known you for fifteen years and you've never given me anything for my birthday. Another round of the Slytherin game, is it?"

This time Miles' expression was sincere. He was offended. By what, only he knew. "I'm not planning anything sinister, Marcus, and this isn't a game. Take care of her."

Marcus watched him go, puzzled. He muttered something under his breath and turned to Katie. He took a long hard look at her and without word went back into the study and slammed the door.

When the door opened again Montague shuffled out, his head low like a child ready for a much deserved punishment.

"Hello," he said, nervously. He didn't look at her.

Never had any of the Bletchleys or her former owners greeted her in any form. Katie's mouth opened slightly. She got over her shock and mumbled something.

"Marcus will be out in a few minutes. He needs time to think," Montague said. He tried to smile but failed. He muttered something and took off the down the hall to the vestibule.

Montague seemed nice, nothing like she thought he was at Hogwarts. There was a chance that Marcus wouldn't live up to his reputation. There might be a chance she'd live to see another birthday. Maybe.

Somewhere a grandfather clock chimed, the low guttural sound reverberating around the house. It sounded like the groan of someone dying. Katie shuddered. She took it as an ominous sign that it was then that Marcus chose to come out the study.

"Follow me," he said.

It was difficult for Katie to keep up. The further they went into the house the darker the halls got. Marcus was quicker than anyone his size should've been. Katie had to break into a jog a few times to catch up to him. At the end of the hallway was flight of narrow stairs that led to the second floor. The hall there was wider. On the walls were portraits of various Flints.

There was a pattern among the portraits. Most of the people had dark hair, pale skin and light eyes. These must have been the people who were born into the family. They looked nothing like Marcus. There was a dramatic change coming to the end of the hall beginning with Lev Flint. He was as broad as he was long and seemed uncomfortable in his skin. His small black eyes looked out on the hall uncertainly, making his head seem larger than it was. His skin was a sickly grey and his black hair scant. He looked like a troll wearing human skin. The following generations of Flints looked less troll-like, but not enough to look completely human.

When she'd taken in all the portraits, Katie focused on Marcus' back. When they were in school Marcus' resemblance to a troll had been a running joke. Katie had thought it was nature being cruel and somewhat funny, but now it appeared as if nature had nothing to do with it. For the first time in years Katie felt vaguely curious. She had to stop herself from blurting out a question she actually wanted an answer to.

Marcus stopped at the last door on the right. He pushed it open and waited for her to catch up. Katie stood on the threshold, peering inside. The room was very white. White walls, white carpet. There were even white roses on the table in the sitting area. Katie looked up at Marcus, her eyes enquiring.

"This is your room," he said. "There's an adjoining bathroom and clothes in the wardrobe. I'd suggest you burn whatever the hell you're wearing. You smell like a thestral who's eaten a horse."

Katie's brows furrowed. She couldn't comprehend what Marcus had just said. She couldn't ask him to repeat it because he'd already stalked off down the hall.

This was her room? The last time she'd had a room of her own was eight years ago. Since the end of the war she'd slept in alleys, dungeons, near hearths, and then in a small room shared by five other women with her first family. The servants' quarters at the Bletchleys was a haphazardly built structure attached to the stables. Katie had shared a room with Maria and another woman. When she went to bed it was to the noise of the horses and thestrals neighing and each other.

A thought quickly came to Katie. How had Marcus known about the horses and thestrals? It couldn't have been a coincidence that he'd chosen that phrase. Another question she wanted an answer to. If he didn't kill her for sport or out of sheer cruelty, Marcus would kill her for being too mouthy.

Slowly, Katie entered the room. She decided to trust herself and believe that Marcus had told her this was her room. Not even her room at home had been this beautiful. This must have been a lady's room. Someone with a title and a personal house elf to make sure her appearance was perfect before she even thought of stepping out of the room.

The air was fresh and smelled of wild flowers. Katie inhaled deeply, dropping the tattered bag she'd brought with her. Watching it fall, she noticed the dirt that sloughed off it, falling onto the carpet. She gasped, noticing the mess her boots were making. Without thinking, she took them off and rushed to the bathroom. Off came her clothes and underwear and on went the faucets of the bath. She was too panicked to notice the luxury of the room. All she could think about how she was going to clean the mess she'd made.

It took multiple washes to get the grime off. After the third wash, Katie had started to believe it had now become too deeply rooted in her skin. A simple bath couldn't wash off the years of labour and servitude. But it had come off. She was left feeling a lightness she hadn't felt since the war had begun.

Wrapped in a towel, Katie went back to the bedroom. Her bag was no longer on the floor and the carpet was as white as it had been when she'd stood at the threshold. The roses in the sitting area were gone, replaced by a silver tray with a bowl of steaming soup, a plate of salad and butterbeer. It was a change from a never-ending diet of dry bits of bread, egg, cheese and milk.

It all looked so good that Katie didn't want to touch it. Her hunger won out though and she ate everything; not a crumb was left behind.

After eating she went to the wardrobe. It was larger inside than it was outside. Katie couldn't remember the name of the spell that caused the shifting of space. There were dozens of beautiful dresses and even a few robes. Some were made out of silk, others out of satin. Some of the embroidery was done with gold or silver thread.

This couldn't be for her. Servants, not even ones who were allowed in the house, ever got to wear such beautiful things. But Marcus had never kept a servant so it was possible he didn't know how things were done. It was a stupid argument but Katie had to believe it. Nothing made sense otherwise.

Three days passed. Katie stayed in her room in a constant state of agitation, waiting for something, what exactly, she didn't know. Food was brought to her by house elves. They weren't like any house elves she'd ever met. They were calm and moved in fluid motions. For the most part they ignored her and didn't speak unless she asked them something. Usually, they didn't have an answer.

What was she doing here? What was her purpose? Why did Miles give her to Marcus? He'd said he wasn't playing a game, but what was the point of giving her to Marcus when it was so obvious he didn't want or need her? And where was Marcus? Why hadn't he put her to work? What kind of game was he playing? She was being driven mad.

On the third day, dinner consisted or roast chicken and potatoes. Before the house elf could Apparate away, Katie asked him something she hadn't bothered to so far. Where was Marcus?

"Master Flint is in his study," the elf squeaked and disappeared.

She had to see him. She had to know what part she was to play. If he decided to punish her for her straightforwardness, at least she'd know what to expect. It was better than this waiting.

Katie found the study with relative ease. She held her hand up to knock but stopped herself. Did she really want to find out what kind of punishment Marcus would deal out if she angered him? Maybe the price of knowledge was too high.

Before she could do anything the door was yanked open. Marcus looked down at her, his expression nonchalant. He stepped aside, inviting her in.

Cautiously Katie entered the room, taking a quick inventory. The room was illuminated by a dozen or so candles and she could see what she couldn't on the first night. She noticed the glass case on the wall facing the large desk made of aged wood. On the top shelf was Marcus' Death Eater mask. It mocked her, reminding Katie of everyone she'd seen tortured and killed. Below it was a pair of silver gauntlets. Katie was staring at history. She was both awed and disgusted. One day the gauntlets would be a part of some museum collection.

During the war, everyone in the resistance had come to fear the Death Eater with the silver gloves. Katie had never seen him but her imagination had made up a terrible image of him. After the war when she'd found out his identity and hadn't been surprised. It was disconcerting, though, to know that someone she'd gone to school with had been capable of such gruesome actions.

Katie realized that Marcus was watching her reaction to the gauntlets and schooled her face into a blank expression. It wouldn't do to get angry. Things had run their course and she could only accept them.

"So what do you want?" With a casual air, Marcus went to his desk.

Katie thought a moment, trying to order her words perfectly so not to offend.

"I don't have all day."

Shaken out of her thoughts, Katie said the first thing that came to her mind. "What am I supposed to be doing?"

"What?"

"You haven't told me what I'm supposed to be doing."

"I don't need you to do anything," Marcus replied. "In fact I don't need you at all. I have a competent staff of house elves. If I let you loose around this place you'll likely make a mess of things."

"But what am I supposed to do, then? I can't just sit in my room all day."

"Why not? I thought you'd be glad to have the rest."

"I am glad and I'm grateful too." Inwardly, Katie cringed at her sincerity. Marcus was a murderer. The only thing she should feel towards him was an urge to kill him in his sleep. "I need something to do," she said.

"Why?"

She didn't understand the question. What sort of answer did he want? "What do you mean?"

"Why do you need to work? I'm giving you the option of never working again and you don't want to take it. Why is that? After eight years is work all you have left?"

It was a question and not a sarcastic remark. Katie was confused and too stunned to respond immediately. "I need something to do," she said eventually. "I haven't thought about why that is."

Marcus shrugged and turned his attention to a pile of parchment in front of him. "My old room has been used for storage far too long. You can try and make it liveable again, if you like. It's the one four doors down from your own."

Katie mumbled a thank you and left.

-&-

As the door shut behind her, Marcus exhaled a breath of relief and slumped in his chair. He hated having her in his house. The first night as he'd lain in bed, the faint smell of soap and the intoxicating scent only women had wafted in his room. She looked better than she had on the first night. Her hair was clean and complimented her face where it had taken away from it. She stood straighter now, her confidence returning. She might have been beautiful once. Now she was rather plain and there were hard edges to her. Physically, Marcus found her very attractive.

He was reminded of how long it had been. Three years at least. A prostitute in Knockturn Alley. Her eyes were light brown, one shade darker than amber. Her hair had been a wild mass of auburn waves. She'd smiled at him, easily and naturally, as if sensing a kindred spirit in him. He couldn't tell if she was having him on. It frustrated him, but he'd decided it didn't matter, considering.

Marcus had never shared close quarters with a woman. His mother hadn't been a woman to him, more like an asexual angel. At Hogwarts the walls and all-seeing eyes had been enough to remind him never to get too close to the girls. After school he'd attempted a relationship with a daughter of a family friend, but he'd known it would be a failure. She'd wanted romance and tentative touches that made her blush when he'd needed something else. He'd accepted that he'd spend the rest of his life as a bachelor, visiting whores and keeping the sisters of his friends safe. The Flint line would end with him. Marcus thought it was for the best, considering.

**

* * *

**

**3.**  
The next morning after breakfast Katie made her way to Marcus' old room. She'd spent a considerable time during the night thinking over Marcus' words. Why did she want to work when she it was so clear she didn't have to? Was working really all she had now? She had to admit that maybe it was. Her family was dead. Her mother had been killed in the June 12th Death Eater Raid on the Ministry the second year into the war. Her father had died a year later. He'd fallen off the roof of the house, trying to repair it. Katie hadn't seen anyone in her extended family since she'd been captured by the new Ministry. If they weren't dead they were likely in the same position she was. They might as well have been dead and that was how she liked to think of them. Yes, Marcus might have been right.

His old room was dark and cluttered. Katie stumbled over a few things getting to the windows in order to draw back the heavy drapes. Light flooded the room revealing a large bed covered with books, parchment and clothes. Around the room were all sizes of chests and trunks and various models of brooms. The old Quidditch enthusiast in her was instantly drawn to the classic Cleansweep Cloud model. They didn't make brooms like that anymore. Nowadays brooms were designed to fly themselves. The Cleansweep Cloud was the type of broom that was like an unbroken horse. A wrong motion or hard jerk could land the flyer on his arse. One had to know how to control their body in order to fly it.

There was no doubt the broom was Marcus'. He'd carved his name into the handle. Katie found a swell of respect rising up in her.

It took all day for her to clear the bed. She disposed of all the parchment and textbooks and put away the clothes to be given to the Bletchleys' servants if Marcus would allow it. It had been a long time since they'd been given anything new to wear. Maria was still wearing a dress made out of Marion and Miles' old school robes and Carl hadn't had a new pair of trousers since he'd come to them five years earlier.

Marcus didn't come home that night so she couldn't ask for the favour. However, the next morning a house elf handed her a note telling her she could do as she pleased with the clothes and some of the books. The brooms were to be given to the house elves to be polished and displayed in the first floor sitting room. Katie had been worried that some items were cursed. Marcus assuaged her fear. The only thing she had to look out for was an unharnessed bludger that was somewhere in the room.

A week went by without Katie speaking to Marcus. Three days into her cleaning she'd watched him from the window walking into forest. A few hours later he'd returned, dragging a large stag with his bare hands. Even with the distance between them, Katie could tell he wore a satisfied smile. She didn't know what to make of the whole thing until she'd started taking a look at Marcus' books.

Everyday after that the clearing process slowed. Katie found herself reading more than cleaning. The books Marcus kept were as fascinating as they were horrific. Most were about human and animal anatomy. Marcus had left detailed notes in spaces of the pages, some of them referring to previous passages or various other books. On his own, Marcus had charted the vulnerable places in the human body and had documented what spell, kick or punch would yield the most pain.

The other books were about fighting techniques. Ninjutsu, Capoeira, Tae Kwon Do. Marcus was a born soldier. How strange it was to know now that if he'd wanted he could've killed her while playing Quidditch. A swift kick would have sent her spiralling to the ground. No one would've found out. It would've been classified as an accident. Marcus had played dirty like every other Slytherin, but he'd never crossed that invisible line into sheer cruelty. She wanted to know why.

Katie was just as fascinated by what she didn't find as she was by what she did find. There was no pureblood propaganda. No pamphlets or scribbles in the margins of his books. The Marcus she'd come to know through rumours, insinuations, and the official words of the Ministry seemed not to exist. Was he a Believer or not?

On the eighth day of Marcus' absence, Katie pulled a large and heavy tome from under the bed. She knew that most pureblood children were given their own copy of their family records. She'd found Marcus'. The first recorded Flint appeared in the twelfth century and had been a stone carver. Like the portraits in the hall, the Flints were mostly uninteresting until the records came to Lev Flint. There were two photos of him placed side by side. Before and after. A handsome dark haired, blue-eyed wizard stared haughtily at Katie, straightening his collar and sleeves. In the next photo, the face she'd seen in the portrait in the hall glared at her, his teeth clenched.

There were several parchments and pages ripped from various books on top of the page. One page had been taken from a medical encyclopaedia and a particular section had been circled:

_**Marbury Syndrome**: Named after Richard Marbury, the healer who first diagnosed the syndrome in 1715. Marbury's or Crushed or Raisin Heart Disease, causes the patient's heart to shrivel. After death, the heart is considerably smaller and appears as if it has been crushed and shares a resemblance to a large raisin. Marbury's usually shows itself in late adolescence. Mild symptoms appear such as shortness of breath, chest pain, dizziness and frequent loss of consciousness. The only known cure is a dilution of troll's blood (see pg. 1258). Most patients prefer not to be treated because of the side effects of troll's blood._

Well, that answered many of her questions.

Katie wasn't able to move, her mind racing. She tried to think back to her Potions and Care of Magical Creatures classes. In seventh year Professor Snape had allowed them to use a small amount of troll's blood for a neutralizing potion. It was well known that trolls couldn't be poisoned, as their blood diffused whatever made the poison toxic. Professor Snape had made them wear gloves, safety goggles, and leather aprons. No one with a recent wound was allowed to make the potion. The sixth year Care of Magical Creatures text had written that to come upon a troll was terrible, to come upon a bleeding troll was even worse. There hadn't been an explanation as to why that was.

"I see you've found something that holds your interest."

Katie's heart leapt into her throat. Marcus stood behind her, his shadow covering her. He was probably going to kill her. Madame Bletchley certainly would have her killed if she'd ever found her going through her things. How easily it had been for her to forget her place. A nice room, new clothes, and a little freedom and she'd thought it was her right to look where she had no right to.

"You're afraid," Marcus said. "You think I'm going to kill you. Now, why would do you think I'd do a thing like that?"

Katie slowly turned to him, closing the book. She rose and faced him with what little dignity she could muster. Marcus looked at her imploringly, waiting for an answer. Katie didn't know what to say. She was interested in his face in a way she hadn't been before. He wasn't as ugly as he'd been in school. There was something even slightly attractive about him. The old blood was reasserting itself.

"I'm not going to kill you. I have no reason to. That's probably one of the things Miles would like me to do."

So the only thing was keeping him from killing her was Miles.

Marcus raised his brow as if he'd heard her thoughts. "If you have something to say or a question you want to ask, go ahead. It's always better when all the players know what game they're playing."

"You still think this is a game, then?" she asked cautiously.

"It is, somewhat. Miles isn't fucking with me because he wants to, but because he thinks he has to. I don't know why, but I do know I'm being manipulated, by him and by you."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you, I swear," Katie said, stumbling over her words. "I didn't even know I was coming here until a few hours before I came here." He might not want to kill her, but that didn't mean he didn't want to do other things to her.

"Of course you're not trying. I'd know if you were, just like I'd know if you were under _Imperio_. For all that he knows about me, Miles still thinks I'm an idiot. He knows what I like in women. His family has four female servants: the old woman, the mother of his child, you, and his new pet. She's pretty, but stupid and vacuous, but she's also young and strong. I would get more work out of her than I would you. She would've made a better gift. Instead he gave you to me. You're plain for the most part, not as pretty as you used to be. We share the same interest in Quidditch. Being in Gryffindor, you're straightforward. You're not coy like most of the women I know."

"I don't understand."

"There's perfume in your room. Why haven't you used it?"

Katie furrowed her brows. "I don't like the smell of perfume. I never have."

"Did Miles ever give you perfume?"

She nodded. It had been a long time ago. After Miles had forced himself on her the first time he'd given her a half empty vial of his sister's perfume. She'd thrown it at him. "I told him I hated perfume. I used to buy the oils they made out of wildflowers. I don't understand what that has to do with anything."

"It means that I was right to believe Miles sent you here to seduce me."

"How could I seduce you? As you said, I'm not as pretty as I used to be."

Marcus laughed, realizing she was offended by his comment. "You've read the book." He motioned to the family records. "Lev was one of the few people who went through with the treatment for Marbury's. Done right, there would have been little side-effects. The healer was young and he miscalculated how much troll's blood was needed. After three weeks of excruciating pain, Lev became more troll than man. From what I read of his wife's diary, it was like he was trapped in his head. He could barely communicate with any of them. When he got frustrated he would turn a whole room upside down. Ten of years of life like that, it was no wonder he killed himself." Marcus looked away and turned to the windows. "Before he died, he tried to murder his son. He was afraid of what life would be like for him."

"So he was able to get married?"

"To his first cousin. She was in love with him before the change and she didn't see a reason to desert him, despite what her side of the family said. She suffered for him in every way imaginable, but she never regretted their life. With each generation the effect of the troll's blood lessens, but none of us Flints can forget what we are. When I see a beautiful woman I know that she's beautiful, but everything about her irritates me. Her hair, the way it's coloured and done up. Her make-up and the smell of powder and lipstick. Most of all, her perfume. It irritates my nose and makes me want to vomit. There's something false about that kind of woman, something human by today's definition."

Katie nodded, finally understanding. "So what are you going to do?"

Marcus smirked. "I'm going to let you seduce me."

"But isn't that what Miles wants?"

"I said I was going to let you seduce me. I didn't say I was going to let you trap me."

"I didn't know there was a difference."

"There wouldn't be to a Gryffindor, but to a Slytherin they're concepts that are miles apart." Marcus turned back to the window. Dusk was falling.

Katie picked up the family record. "What do you want me to do with this?" She held it to her chest. She couldn't explain the tenderness she felt for the book, for the people it documented, and even for Marcus.

"Read the rest if you like. The part about my grandfather is particularly interesting. He was a sea explorer. He found thirteen new species of fish in his lifetime."

And what would she find out about Marcus, if there was anything about him at all? She wanted to know more about him. Just how far reaching were the effects of the troll blood? How did he fit into the Death Eater circle?

As if reading her mind again, Marcus said, "I meant what I said earlier. If you want to know something, ask."

Katie swallowed her nervousness. "You kill people," she said.

"Yes, I do. You want to know if I feel guilty. I don't. I don't have it in me to. I'm not a maniac. I would never kill anyone without a reason. I suppose that's the human part of me asserting itself. The first time I killed someone I didn't mean to, but afterwards I realized how much I liked it. Maybe the drive to kill is an effect of my blood, but you've seen my books and my notes, the fact that I give in is purely human."

Chilled, Katie hugged the book even tighter. "What reasons do you need to kill someone?"

"Reason may not be the best word," he replied thoughtfully. "I'm a soldier. I need orders. I wouldn't kill you unless the Dark Lord himself told me to. You can take some comfort in that."

"You've treated me very well, considering that I'm a traitor and a half-blood."

"I'm the last person who should be judging anyone by their blood. It would be hypocritical. I don't care for political labels. You fought for what you believe in. I admire that."

"And what do you believe?" Katie asked.

"Nothing," Marcus said. "The old Ministry, the New Ministry. It's all the same to me. I applied to the MLE my last year of school. I had the grades and I would've made a good Auror. I would have made a better hit wizard. I suppose they didn't want an untrustworthy Slytherin tainting their credibility and leaving them open to attack. It's their loss, I suppose."

Katie had to agree.

* * *

**4.**  
The first time Marcus had killed someone it had been a few months after his seventeenth birthday. Five years of raging hormones and he thought he had himself under control. Being a bit of a troll meant an inexhaustible sexual appetite and an aggressiveness he hadn't known about until it was too late. During Christmas hols, his father had brought him to a brothel, believing it was time he got to know women intimately. He'd refused at first, but his father made it clear it was necessary if he planned on getting married. At that time Marcus had entertained thoughts of being a husband and having a family. That night had made it clear that such a thing was not possible.

As he'd told Katie, he hadn't meant to kill the woman. Everything had gone smoothly until he'd been inside her. Visually, he didn't remember much. He could recall perfect clarity, though, how fragile her body felt. Her bones were brittle compared to his and her skin couldn't protect her the way his could. He'd held her close, too close. When he released her it was only so he could thrust even harder. He'd felt her hands pushing him away. With one hand he'd held them off to the side. The other hand he'd closed around her neck. She'd died of suffocation.

When his vision cleared, she was staring him with glassy eyes. Horror, fear, pride, and childish glee; he felt it all at once.

When he came into the room, Malcolm found him, dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to the dead woman. His father hugged him and explained that everything would be taken care of. He'd planned the evening knowing all the ways it could end and had prepared for each possibility. The woman had had no family and no friends who would care about her death. The brothel owner had been compensated handsomely for his loss.

Marcus didn't touch a woman for three years after that. Guilt had turned into depression and that had resulted in him failing and having to repeat his seventh year. He'd gone back to school with the same control he'd had before the brothel incident. He now knew that there was no chance he'd attack some random girl in the corridors. What he had to worry about was the moment some stupid girl gave him permission to touch them.

Sex wasn't like killing. Where he was deliberate and thoughtful during a kill, during sex he was reckless and unthinking. Having sex was like walking a tightrope. If he wasn't careful he'd slip and someone would die. Miles knew that. The brothel owner had been told to contact Malcolm or Marcus, in the event of his father's death, if anyone started asking questions about that night. For a few extra galleons, one of the girls who had been working that night told Miles the secret she'd been paid well to keep. It was a good thing the brothel owner kept a close eye on his employees or Marcus might not have known.

If Miles knew then Marion knew as well. She didn't seem to care. It probably made him a little more exciting in her eyes. Knowing her, she'd willingly sacrifice herself in any way to make him happy.

Like an arrow, a thought suddenly struck him. Marcus grinned maliciously.

In his study, he called for a house elf to summon Katie to him. Marcus was reclining in his chair by the fire when she knocked on the door. She frowned when she saw that he was smiling. He told her to take the seat opposite him.

"I've decided we needed to talk," he said.

"About what?"

"You. Tell me about yourself."

"Why?"

Marcus laughed. "So you can seduce me, of course."

"Of course," she replied sarcastically. Katie's eyes widened at her daring. There was something about Marcus that made her forget everything she'd learned in her eight years as servant.

"We're going to have a bit of fun, you and me," Marcus said.

Katie couldn't explain why she believed him.

* * *

**5.**  
The day after New Year's Day Katie quickly made her way through the Diagon Alley crowd towards Quality Quidditch Supplies. She was cold and unable to do even the simplest heating charm. She didn't complain. She was acutely aware of the other servants in the crowd. The multiple layers of cast off clothing weren't enough to keep them as warm as Katie's new snow white mink coat did. It had been a Christmas gift from Marcus. She'd been speechless when he'd thrown it at her. "I figured you need something for the winter if you wanted to go out," he'd said.

He figured she needed a lot of things, like the talks in the evening to keep her from getting bored, the books he thought might interest her, and the house elves making her favourite meals. She'd made a fool of herself the first time they'd had dinner in the formal dining room. There'd been chocolate covered strawberries for dessert. She'd eaten them with her fingers and had left a trail of chocolate on her mouth. Marcus had found it endearing. He hadn't been joking when he said he would let himself be seduced.

She didn't know why he was going along with what Miles wanted, but it didn't matter much when confections were the result. Sometimes she wondered what would happen when the game came to an end. It was possible the Marcus she'd come to know was a façade he used in order to get what he wanted. After the game, she might come to wish she'd never opened herself to him as she had in the last six months. Maybe he'd give her back to Miles. He'd told her he'd never had any intention to keep a servant and why would he continue to keep her if he no longer needed her. Life was good for the time being. She had to be grateful for that.

It was warm inside Quality Quidditch Supplies. The smell of polish and new brooms made Katie think of the long hours she, Alicia, and Angelina had spent polishing and clipping their brooms while gossiping. Before the start of winter, Marcus had taken her flying. He'd even let her try the Cleansweep Cloud. She'd been thrown from it three times before she decided it was not her kind of broom. Marcus, on the other hand, could ride it as well as he rode the latest Firebolt. Another thing she could admire about him.

He was a murderer and a bit of a sadist, and yet she laughed at every one of his jokes and allowed him to teach her how to dance. She told him things she wouldn't admit to herself until that moment. He told her things as well. He'd told her about the encounter with the prostitute. She'd ended up pitying him.

When she asked him why he told her, he said: "So you know what you've gotten into."

"So I'm like a prostitute," she replied lightly. She'd been less than that with Miles, but never once had Marcus made her feel that way. He made her believe he respected her.

"Hardly. It's never going to get to that point. I wouldn't let it."

That had been the end of that conversation. Marcus had excused himself to bed and the topic was never discussed again.

Marcus had resigned himself to a life alone with infrequent visits to prostitutes. She didn't understand why. The fact that he could control himself enough to even have sex proved that he could have a somewhat normal life. She longed to ask him why he didn't at least attempt it. Maybe one of these days she'd summon up the courage.

Katie pulled back the hood of her coat as she walked towards the counter of the store. The clerk greeted her with a smile. He'd developed a liking for her after she'd brought in the Cleansweep Cloud for a tune up. This time she'd come to get back the old Shooting Star she'd found in the stables.

The clerk ran to the back room, returning quickly with the broom wrapped in a soft cloth. "I worked on it day and night," he said. "They don't make brooms like this anymore. It's been eighteen years since I saw an old model like this one." He unwrapped it, beaming with pride.

"It's beautiful," Katie said, touching the perfectly trimmed twigs. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you," the man smiled.

Katie paid for the broom and was about to leave when she caught sight of Miles on the other side of the store. He was looking at her as if he was seeing a mirage. He beckoned her over with a motion of his head. She followed without hesitation.

"You look well," he said, mystified. "Marcus is treating you better than I thought he would."

Better than you ever did, the words were on the tip of her tongue but Katie restrained herself. However, Miles noticed that she'd wanted to say something.

"He buys you nice things, lets you out to do as you please. I've heard people say that they've seen you about London. I didn't believe it, but I see the rumours are true. Now what's going on, Katie? Did Marcus castrate himself in a fit of guilt or something like that?"

Angry, Katie bit her tongue, tasting blood.

Miles leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "He's a monster, you know. Sooner or later you'll find that out. You'll think your time with me was a walk in the park." Satisfied he'd scared her, Miles dramatically stalked away.

The trip home (against her will she'd come to call Tulloch home) made no impression on Katie. She left the broom in Marcus' study and went to her room for a lie down. She closed the curtains and pulled the covers over her head when she got into bed. It would be about four hours before Marcus arrived home from the Ministry. It might be enough time to clear her head.

Miles had acted as if she'd told her some secret when he'd said Marcus was a monster. She knew that. She'd seen what the Death Eaters could do. She'd watched as her friends were tortured. She'd been put through the ringer herself. Life in the Ministry dungeons had been unpleasant and she'd been glad when she'd been given to her first family. She'd spent her days throwing up because of the contaminated water they were fed. She couldn't sleep during the nights because of the rats and other vermin. The only emotion she'd felt during that time was unadulterated hate. She'd fantasized about killing the Ministry guards, her imagination taking her to dark places she'd never been before, not even when she'd watched her friends die.

Her hate disappeared when her hope died. It was pointless to hold on to it. Hate made her sick and angry and kept her paralyzed. Even as Miles raped her over and over again, she'd felt nothing for him except faint disgust. She refused to feel ashamed. She'd done nothing wrong and she would never give Miles the pleasure of making her feel that way.

However, if this was what the loss of her hate did then she wanted it back. Without it she was vulnerable to Marcus. She'd let herself get close to him. She'd sympathized and pitied him and sometimes felt as if she understood him. He was a monster, but he was more than that. She would've preferred to be ignorant on that point. There were two sides to him she couldn't reconcile. She doubted they could ever be. She wouldn't have been as fascinated by him if it were possible.

Six months with Marcus. He wasn't the only one being seduced. Unlike him, she hadn't made a conscious decision and could therefore control herself. When it was all over Marcus could walk away, unaffected and unhurt.

He'd said they were both playing against Miles. Right now it seemed as if Marcus was the only person winning.

At half past seven, there was a knock at her door. Katie ignored it, burrowing deeper into her covers. Marcus gave up being polite on the third knock and came into the room.

"Are you feeling sick?" he asked. "Or is one of those female things you claim I know nothing about?" The laughter in his voice annoyed her.

"Marcus, go away."

"Are you alright?" He was concerned now and that irritated her even more.

"I'm fine," Katie said, trying to keep her tone civil.

"Then why are you in bed?"

She pushed off the covers, glowering at him. "When a woman tells you to go away you should probably do what she says."

"I don't see why. What could i _you /i _ possibly do to i _me /i _?"

Katie reached for a glass ornament and threw it at him. Marcus ducked just in time. The ornament smashed against the door.

"Are you going to punish me for that?" Katie asked, snidely.

"Is that what you want?" he said, confused.

"What I want is to go back to the Bletchleys."

It was Marcus' turn to be speechless. "When did you make this decision" he shouted.

"Today."

"Why?"

Katie shrugged. She was done speaking to him.

"Well, you're not going back. You have a good life here and only an idiot would give it up."

"Are you calling me an idiot?"

"You're acting like one."

Fighting with the covers and making herself look a little ridiculous in the process, Katie got of bed. "What I'm doing is taking control of my life. I'm tired of playing i _your /i _ game. At least with Miles I knew what was up and what was down."

"You make it sound as if I've been lying to you when I've been nothing but honest."

"In the beginning I hated Miles. Even when I stopped hating him I never liked him. It was simple with him. He didn't make me—" She stopped herself just in time, but it was as if she'd said the words.

"I didn't make you do anything," Marcus said contemptuously, raising his voice. "You've been here six months and I've never laid a hand on you. I've never made any overtures so don't you dare blame me for whatever you're feeling. And don't worry, just because you think its love doesn't make it that. It's only gratitude."

Katie looked around for something else to throw at him. First he wouldn't leave her alone, then he'd caused her to display her feelings when she so clearly didn't want to, and now he was belittling those feelings.

"Don't tell me about what I feel. You don't know anything about that."

"And you do? You're so sure about what you feel that you blame me for it. How's that for emotional honesty."

"Fine," Katie yelled. "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. It would've been odd if it hadn't happened."

"It's just gratitude, Katie, nothing more," Marcus said quietly. "Let's not let talk about it any further."

"You don't know that."

"And neither do you."

"What if it isn't?" She closed the distance between them, looking him in the eye. She didn't understand any of this, but she was going to try to be honest about it.

Marcus stepped back. "It's doesn't matter. I like you, Katie, and because of that I'm not going to put you in a position to be hurt."

He was being earnest, Katie was sure. There went all her theories about him walking away unscathed. She smiled at him. "You're in love with me."

"That tends to happen when you let someone seduce you," he replied caustically. "I know what my feelings are. You don't and that's the end of it. Worse case scenario: a few months from now you come to your senses and start believing I raped you. I'm nothing like Miles."

"I wouldn't like you if you were."

Marcus snorted. "This isn't love, Katie, believe me. You don't know anything about me. I've told you stories but you'd have to experience it firsthand to really know, and you don't want that."

"Did your mother love your father?"

"Of course she did." How could she ask such a question? He'd told her countless stories about his parents' marriage. After one story most people were convinced of his mother's love.

"Did your father ever hurt her?"

It wasn't until he'd been old enough to realize what he was that he'd understood that the bruises and scrapes weren't from falls and other accidents. His father had never meant to hurt his mother, but he had. She never feared her husband, but it was unfair that she had to go through what she had. With her background, Katie would fear him. She would be stupid if she didn't. Marcus enjoyed killing people but that didn't mean he wouldn't want a healthy relationship, if could ever have one. But with life being what it was that wasn't possible, and he wasn't about to take a chance.

"Your mother loved your father and that's all that mattered."

"You sound like a fucking romance novel," Marcus shouted. "Listen to yourself. I've killed and tortured your friends and I have no remorse and I never will."

"I'm aware of that and don't think I'm not angry. I'm not delusional, Marcus. I know who you are."

He shook his head. "No you don't."

"Then show me." Slowly, Katie began to unbutton the front of her dress.

Marcus was frozen, unable to look away. As she stepped out of her dress, all of his senses increased. He could see her so clearly, the outline of her body, the faint scars on her arms and legs. He could hear the quickening beats of her heart and the rise and fall of her chest. He could smell the soap and wildflower oil she'd used earlier. He could smell her arousal. If she didn't love him then she was at least attracted to him. But that could've been her gratitude disguising itself.

Taking the initiative, Katie came closer and pressed herself against him. She smiled, feeling his cock hardening.

"This isn't right," he said, voice shaking. No one had ever made him feeling this way, so vulnerable and on the edge of destruction. "You're going to hate me tomorrow."

"It's a long time between now and tomorrow," she whispered, kissing his jaw.

He was about to protest again when she kissed him on the mouth. She tasted like honey. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around her, her skin was as soft as he thought it would be.

He now had to agree. It was a long time between now and the next day.

* * *

**6.**  
"I asked Miles to come see me tonight," Marcus announced.

Katie looked up from her roast with an arched brow. "Why?"

"The game's over. I think he should be informed."

"He won't be very happy. I wish I could be there to see his face." She smiled, shifting in her seat to make herself more comfortable. Her entire body ached, but she liked to keep up the appearance that she was mostly fine. Marcus could see right through her but he appreciated the gesture.

If she'd had any illusions about Marcus they'd been shattered two nights ago. Marcus had held back but not enough to leave her unharmed. Despite the pain, she'd enjoyed the sex. There were no awkward fumblings like there'd been during school and none of that parody of affection as there'd been with Miles. Marcus had hurt her and he would hurt her again. She could live with that.

And maybe she didn't love him like she should've and maybe what she was feeling was something sick and depraved, but it provided her a life she would try to hold on to for as long as possible. She wasn't an idiot. The world had changed and she had to try and survive it. If someday she woke up and realized she didn't love Marcus and maybe even hated him, he still loved her and that was all the leverage she needed. Marcus was a monster, but he was also human.

-&-

When Miles entered the study, Marcus had already been waiting ten minutes. He leaned back in his chair, directing a wide smile at his guest.

"So why exactly did you summon me here?" Miles asked. "I'm a very busy man."

"You're anything but. We both know you spend most of your time lounging about the house and fucking your servant. Don't pretend otherwise."

Miles glared at him, folding his arms. "What do you want, Flint?"

"Only to tell you that there's no need to worry anymore. I'm not interested in Marion and thanks to you I never will be."

"I don't know what you're talking about." For a Slytherin, Miles was quite a bad liar. What came from his mouth conflicted with what showed on his face.

"Alright, I'll explain it then. You knew that I'd take a liking to Katie. You knew that I'd fall in love with her, but you also thought you knew what would happen after that. You'd thought I'd force myself on her, kill her just like I did that prostitute when I was seventeen. I had to ask myself why you would set this whole thing up. I thought maybe it was because you wanted to ruin my reputation and make sure Marion would stop thinking about marrying me. A man like you wouldn't want someone like me tainting your bloodlines. Just out of curiosity, how did you find out about my family? We never told anyone what happened to Lev."

"The house elves were cleaning out our attic when they found a chest that belonged to an old relative. He was a healer, the one who tried to cure Lev. He'd left a diary. It seems he never forgave himself for his mistake. A lot of people paid for it and I wasn't about to let my sister be one of them." Miles held his head high, unapologetic.

"You love your sister and you did what you did for her. Maybe I would've done the same thing in your position. But you also did it for yourself. If I had killed Katie, my reputation would be considerably diminished and you'd have the pleasure of knowing that it was you who had the cunning to take down a powerful man like me. It would be a nice way to stroke your ego. But I didn't kill her. You thought about the possibility of that too. You were prepared to let Marion do as she pleased in that case. You haven't done much for your family. As much as you believe in the Dark Lord, you didn't become a Death Eater. You were too scared of dying. If I married into your family then that wouldn't matter so much. I've passed your little test and I'm not going to marry your sister."

"Why not?" Miles demanded, eyes wide and blazing. It was bad enough Marcus had seen through his plans, worse that his machinations weren't leading to the predicted end.

"I don't like her and I could never love her," Marcus said with casual ease.

"She loves you." Miles noticeably grimaced. It was a truth he hated to think about let alone speak.

"No, she doesn't. She loves what she thinks I am. I'll spare her the disappointment."

"And what about Katie?"

Marcus grinned. "I should thank you where she's concerned. How do you think Marion will take it when she finds out I'm choosing Katie over her. You think she'll be as grateful to you as I am?"

Miles' looked horror-stricken. "You fucking bastard!"

"Oh, they'll be plenty of those to come. I think I might name my firstborn after you. Katie might object, considering your past together."

Marcus chuckled as Miles raged silently. He looked like a cord about to snap. Gathering his bearings he narrowed his eyes and Marcus and left the room.

Marcus let out a loud guttural laugh when he was gone. He felt very good at the moment, happy even.

**end**

_Written for Califoodnia, for the Overcoming Rivalry Fic Exchange._**  
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